There is no fear but fear itself
that frightful, fearsome, dreadful foe
that swells within our bellies so
though we may fret, our flesh turned weak
our world perceived a vision bleak
let anger rise to swallow fear
and through the heart to free your tears
Of sorrows past, of rage or joy
but do not speak it, let it through
and in the mind let it not sit
for God awaits for this great gift
if it returns what shall we do?
remember feelings break the shelf
So do not fear, the fear itself
For fear is now afraid of you
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
The Adventures of Thomas the Momas ep. 3
Now at the top, Thomas bolted for the door, smooth black wood with no markings or knobs. Only a levitating crystal ball, inches from the center of the door awaiting someone's touch to grant them passage to the see the Mistress. Once inside, Thomas could see the faint light in the distance, surrounded by the endless black his nerves could not bare to merely walk to the parlor. So he ran, terrified but excited, constantly looking around to see if anything would leap out at him and swallow him whole. Making his way to her abode a distant memory surprised him, that of his first visit when he was but a child. Then, he was too young to come on his own, his guardian had accompanied him. They say that the Mistress has answers to all questions thus has no need to ask anyone of anything. However, if she should ever ask you a question know that far beyond its answer the reason for which the question is posed is of crucial importance. During that first visit, as young Thomas sat across from her, she leaned over and simply said: "Have you come to know when it is you will expire?". But Thomas was far too young and knew too little to be bothered or surprised by such an inquiry. As he grew and learned more of the Mistress and her ways, he realized that that moment was a rare gem, a clue to the meaning and unfolding of his existence. Yet, in all his years of searching and adventuring the answer to why she asked him never revealed itself. And obviously, the Mistress herself was never so kind as to shed light on the matter. "That is a matter for you alone to discover." She would always say, sometimes as he was merely thinking of asking. Now at the parlor, Thomas immediately sat in the chair and began the long chase after his breath. The Mistress accustomed to Thomas arriving in this fashion was preparing tea, to help him relax. With her back turned to him, raising her voice over the sound of his heavy breath she said: "Thinking of the days of old my young friend?" Thomas, trying to catch his breath and calm his nerves, noticed that she had asked a question. And though it appeared to be no more than a innocent observation (as far as people with such gifts are concerned), he could not help but wonder if this was another question for which the answer might reveal some clue as to his destiny.
However, soon after, the very question of this question was no longer a concern. The Mistress had a talent for tea, and it always seemed that all burdens and troubles were gently washed away by the hot soothing brew. Now comfortably settled, he began to discuss what he always discussed, the great door in the basement.
"Again, I failed to have the courage to open it Mistress. Again, the terror was too terrible, the light was too bright. I fear I will one day be no more than an old coward roaming the halls of my home."
With soft eyes and as sweet a voice as she could muster, the old crow responded. "My sweet boy, fear not, you will one day rejoin your clan. As they have done before you, you will one day cross the threshold."
"But how can you say it so plainly, you who have professed to have seen men defy their own destinies and be led to ruin. As you always say, the obstinence of man if unchecked leads him to great sorrows that need not have been."
The Mistress, only smiled, like elders do in the face of a troubled youth
Thomas let out a great sigh in frustration. "My boy, all things are possible, all dreams and nightmares can become our reality. Simply dream Thomas, dream of the tomorrow you so desperately seek." Thomas unphased by the fortune teller's wise words said nothing, he looked away, trying to hide the welling of tears is his eyes. Now the Mistress sighed, almost threatening to lose her patience: "Why don't I tell you your fortune for the day...Today, wondrous adventures and good times with friends await you..." As she continued, stubborn Thomas slowly turned his eyes towards her, he became so engaged in the reading of such a good fortune that he soon forgot his troubles and became light again. He left the realm of the Mistress cheerful and excited about the rest of his day.
However, soon after, the very question of this question was no longer a concern. The Mistress had a talent for tea, and it always seemed that all burdens and troubles were gently washed away by the hot soothing brew. Now comfortably settled, he began to discuss what he always discussed, the great door in the basement.
"Again, I failed to have the courage to open it Mistress. Again, the terror was too terrible, the light was too bright. I fear I will one day be no more than an old coward roaming the halls of my home."
With soft eyes and as sweet a voice as she could muster, the old crow responded. "My sweet boy, fear not, you will one day rejoin your clan. As they have done before you, you will one day cross the threshold."
"But how can you say it so plainly, you who have professed to have seen men defy their own destinies and be led to ruin. As you always say, the obstinence of man if unchecked leads him to great sorrows that need not have been."
The Mistress, only smiled, like elders do in the face of a troubled youth
Thomas let out a great sigh in frustration. "My boy, all things are possible, all dreams and nightmares can become our reality. Simply dream Thomas, dream of the tomorrow you so desperately seek." Thomas unphased by the fortune teller's wise words said nothing, he looked away, trying to hide the welling of tears is his eyes. Now the Mistress sighed, almost threatening to lose her patience: "Why don't I tell you your fortune for the day...Today, wondrous adventures and good times with friends await you..." As she continued, stubborn Thomas slowly turned his eyes towards her, he became so engaged in the reading of such a good fortune that he soon forgot his troubles and became light again. He left the realm of the Mistress cheerful and excited about the rest of his day.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Tale of the week
The eighth tale: Ogdazh's challenge.
One day, the King had all his people gathered under the battlements of the castle. "Fellow subjects, I issue a challenge to those who are brave enough. The one who overcomes this challenge shall learn my most treasured of secrets. The root and flower of all my power." The crowd below began to stir as people began to voice their excitement. The King called for silence and continued. "For the next four days it will rain, and very hard, with no interruption. He or she who can catch but a single drop of rain from the sky and travel with it to the throne chamber shall be the receiver of my gift. But this must be done as it still rains outside, all must be soaking but the inside of the hand that holds but a drop. And, you may only travel once to see me, so be sure." With that, the King retired. The crowd became agitated. An electricity filled the air as excited young men and women declared their imminent victory. The older and wiser folk retired to prepare.
The next day the rain started, and throughout the village closest to the castle, a huge crowd of people could be seen, trying to catch but a drop of the pouring rain. A rain that poured furisouly, heavily, as to almost blind one completely. As the day went on, many gave up, covered in mud, sneezing, feverish, sliding and slipping as the rain did not yield in the slightest. The eldest of the challengers sat in meditation, contemplating the rain, and of the youngest only one still attempted it. Young Yarhid would not be deterred. He was a young man now, still before the age of adulthood, small in stature and known by his friends and fellow villagers as a very brave lad. In his pocket, his sacred keepsake, a golden egg with the inscription: "Yarhid prince of bravery", which he received as a child. Yarhid whipped his hand furiously into the rain hoping to catch one drop. He felt sure he could do it, even now, after a whole day in the rain, he thought how his hand had grown faster and that soon he would master the technique. A young monk, who was passing through the village looking for shelter before returning to his own Kingdom, observed the spectacle and inquired.
"What are you doing?" He asked.
"Trying to catch a single drop of rain, now leave me be." Yarhid replied impatiently.
"My apologies, could you possibly tell me where the nearest inn is? I am already soaked and would like to retire from this rain." Yarhid pointed south then turned away to continue. The monk thanked him and began to leave when he turned and said. "You will never achieve this, as you are doing it."
Yarhid turned to face him, looking insulted and scoffed. "And what would you know of catching rain, monk?"
"Oh, nothing, it's just that even if you succeed, how will you know. By the time you open your hand to see it, it will be lost." And with that the monk left.
Yarhid was stunned by this obvious truth. He had to travel with this drop all the way to the King first before finding a spot dry enough to check. Those were the rules. If that was not the case, Yarhid could run in and out of a place to see. Also, the monk must have realized that his hands were now too cold and wet all over to feel if there was but one drop.
Yarhid was discouraged, and sat in the mud to ponder upon this impossible task. He now understood why the elders had sat without acting. How to do this he thought? But no answer came. Later, all those who still remained retired for the night.
The next day Yarhid returned, determined, but this time he sat and like the elder ones, he watched the rain, studied it, trying to unlock the secret of all this. The next three days passed like this and all Yarhid caught was fever, sickness, tremblings and even waking nightmares. In the dying hours of the contest none remained but the boy, all had given up. The rain pounded mercilessly on his head, his body was numb and he wondered if he could even stand, but he would not move until the answer came. Eventually doubt began to settle in and his composure broke. “Am I not brave enough?” He shouted. “Am I not worthy enough?” He pounded his frozen fists desperately into the mud no longer able to contain his frustration. Then, the monk from the other day returned and saw Yarhid, concerned he stopped.
"Is this not a dangerous thing now, to catch the rain? Is it not foolish, is it not all so foolish?"Yarhid did not answer, and the monk continued. As the sounds of the monks steps grew fainter, his words reached Yarhid's mind and broke it. Yarhid burst into laughter.
"Indeed, it is all too foolish." And with that he ran to the castle, burst into the throne room and stood before the King showing him his hands, wet, inside and out.
"There is no way to hold it, for it cannot be held."
"As the single drop of water is to an ocean, as so are we to Kavik. Even on its own, the single drop remains a part of the ocean and the ocean remains a part of it, their essence being one in the same and their natures indistinguishable. That is the essence of Kavik, that is the great teaching of the Nasgari and the secret of your great King. In short you should have never tried to catch the rain, as the drop of water does not try to blend with the ocean. There is simply no need, it was indeed all too foolish" The King replied, smiling mischievously.
One day, the King had all his people gathered under the battlements of the castle. "Fellow subjects, I issue a challenge to those who are brave enough. The one who overcomes this challenge shall learn my most treasured of secrets. The root and flower of all my power." The crowd below began to stir as people began to voice their excitement. The King called for silence and continued. "For the next four days it will rain, and very hard, with no interruption. He or she who can catch but a single drop of rain from the sky and travel with it to the throne chamber shall be the receiver of my gift. But this must be done as it still rains outside, all must be soaking but the inside of the hand that holds but a drop. And, you may only travel once to see me, so be sure." With that, the King retired. The crowd became agitated. An electricity filled the air as excited young men and women declared their imminent victory. The older and wiser folk retired to prepare.
The next day the rain started, and throughout the village closest to the castle, a huge crowd of people could be seen, trying to catch but a drop of the pouring rain. A rain that poured furisouly, heavily, as to almost blind one completely. As the day went on, many gave up, covered in mud, sneezing, feverish, sliding and slipping as the rain did not yield in the slightest. The eldest of the challengers sat in meditation, contemplating the rain, and of the youngest only one still attempted it. Young Yarhid would not be deterred. He was a young man now, still before the age of adulthood, small in stature and known by his friends and fellow villagers as a very brave lad. In his pocket, his sacred keepsake, a golden egg with the inscription: "Yarhid prince of bravery", which he received as a child. Yarhid whipped his hand furiously into the rain hoping to catch one drop. He felt sure he could do it, even now, after a whole day in the rain, he thought how his hand had grown faster and that soon he would master the technique. A young monk, who was passing through the village looking for shelter before returning to his own Kingdom, observed the spectacle and inquired.
"What are you doing?" He asked.
"Trying to catch a single drop of rain, now leave me be." Yarhid replied impatiently.
"My apologies, could you possibly tell me where the nearest inn is? I am already soaked and would like to retire from this rain." Yarhid pointed south then turned away to continue. The monk thanked him and began to leave when he turned and said. "You will never achieve this, as you are doing it."
Yarhid turned to face him, looking insulted and scoffed. "And what would you know of catching rain, monk?"
"Oh, nothing, it's just that even if you succeed, how will you know. By the time you open your hand to see it, it will be lost." And with that the monk left.
Yarhid was stunned by this obvious truth. He had to travel with this drop all the way to the King first before finding a spot dry enough to check. Those were the rules. If that was not the case, Yarhid could run in and out of a place to see. Also, the monk must have realized that his hands were now too cold and wet all over to feel if there was but one drop.
Yarhid was discouraged, and sat in the mud to ponder upon this impossible task. He now understood why the elders had sat without acting. How to do this he thought? But no answer came. Later, all those who still remained retired for the night.
The next day Yarhid returned, determined, but this time he sat and like the elder ones, he watched the rain, studied it, trying to unlock the secret of all this. The next three days passed like this and all Yarhid caught was fever, sickness, tremblings and even waking nightmares. In the dying hours of the contest none remained but the boy, all had given up. The rain pounded mercilessly on his head, his body was numb and he wondered if he could even stand, but he would not move until the answer came. Eventually doubt began to settle in and his composure broke. “Am I not brave enough?” He shouted. “Am I not worthy enough?” He pounded his frozen fists desperately into the mud no longer able to contain his frustration. Then, the monk from the other day returned and saw Yarhid, concerned he stopped.
"Is this not a dangerous thing now, to catch the rain? Is it not foolish, is it not all so foolish?"Yarhid did not answer, and the monk continued. As the sounds of the monks steps grew fainter, his words reached Yarhid's mind and broke it. Yarhid burst into laughter.
"Indeed, it is all too foolish." And with that he ran to the castle, burst into the throne room and stood before the King showing him his hands, wet, inside and out.
"There is no way to hold it, for it cannot be held."
"As the single drop of water is to an ocean, as so are we to Kavik. Even on its own, the single drop remains a part of the ocean and the ocean remains a part of it, their essence being one in the same and their natures indistinguishable. That is the essence of Kavik, that is the great teaching of the Nasgari and the secret of your great King. In short you should have never tried to catch the rain, as the drop of water does not try to blend with the ocean. There is simply no need, it was indeed all too foolish" The King replied, smiling mischievously.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The Adventures of Thomas the Momas ep. 2
“Un-be-lie-vable!” He exclaimed, stressing every syllable of the word. That was usually his manner of speaking when excited or annoyed.
Not having noticed Thomas when he entered, he shrugged off his frown momentarily to quickly dispense with the amenities.
“Morning Tom.”
“Morning your lordhip.” Tom was being sarcastic of course, being considered as part of the family there was no need for him to be so formal. The Lord answered with a hard look, and then turned to the Mrs.
“Nearly starved to death was he my dear?” He said quickly, raising an eyebrow at Tom.
“Yes my love.”
“Saved by good scent cloud was he?”
“Yes my love.”
“Hmph, not sure where to eat I bet? Indecisiveness will most likely be the end of the boy.”
“Most likely.”
With an air of mock victory, Lord Muffin-Top joined the other two and the table and readied himself for breakfast.
“Your Lordship.” Thomas continued, not conceding defeat. “You were saying?” Paying no attention, his lordship went on with the story.
“Ah yes, ahm, as I was saying…Un-be-lie-vable!”
“There I was.” The lord was very gestural in his manner of speaking especially when anecdotal. It was as though he re-enacted whatever tale he told.
“On the hunting grounds, the…the…uh.”
“Huntington.” Mrs. Muffin-Top quickly and delicately added.”
“Thank you dearest, the Hun-ting-ton hunting grounds. Ready to hunt bear.” Whenever Mr. Muffin-Top would speak of an animal he always mimicked its most distinctive physical attribute. For example, for a deer or moose he make antlers of his hands atop his head, in this instance he made his arms wide to show the bear’s corpulence making claws with his hands and a scary growl face. And no matter how many times he would allude to the animal he would pause for the mimickery. Thomas loved this about him, and always found himself more enthralled in the story as a result. “So there we were the chaps and I, walking the woods, stalking the grounds, trying not to make a sound. When all of a sudden, we found a magnificent beast, a bear no less than fifteen feet tall if he was a foot. I called the boys over for them to see, and told them, this one was mine. I lined my tranquilizer rifle, ready to put him to sleep so that he may be dealt with in a most humane way.
“Most humane my love.” The Mrs. Added
Mr. Muffin-Top’s face was already red, and he was almost short of breath from the exertion of flailing his arms to re-enact the walking, pretending to sneak around to re-enact the stalking and clutching an invisble rifle to re-enact the lining. All of this while speaking, in that particular manner of this.
“So there I was, ready to bring doooooooown the bear, when a most un-be-, no, no that’s not it, when a most, a most.” He was now huffing and puffing, so red, so mad, it seemed that soon he would lose his muffin’s top.”
“Grievous my dear.”
“A most grrrrrrrrrrievous transgression on one’s right to hunt good and proper, was commited onto MEEEEEE!” Completely spent from the emotion of this retelling, Mr. Muffin-Top’s captive audience was forced to wait for him to gather himself, drink a little water and then finally, go on.
“That idiot Nigel accidentally fired off his rifle, causing the bear to be alerted to our presence, then to give chase in a raaaaaaaaged frrrrenzy, for what seemed like miles Luckily, we somewhow managed to escape with our hides intact. His lordship, now drew a deep breath filling his starved lungs, collapsing in his chair reeling from the climax of this near tragic story. Thomas was quite exilirated, his face gleaming.
“Well anyway, I was so angered at that poor fool that I could no longer enjoy the hunt, and so here I am. Shall we begin?”
The meal had been quite worth the wait, as it always is in this land. For you see, the true treasure of this place is that no matter how much you eat, you never feel full. And so the only reason you ever stop is simply because you no longer want to eat. But do not be fooled, gluttony is greatly frowned upon, all things must be done in moderation you see. “Tis’ the only way the things that need doing will get done.” As the Mrs. Always puts it. Of course, this does not prevent those who dwell here to eat great amounts food.
What was important was to enjoy every morsel regardless of the quantity, and what signaled the end of the meal was simply a question of having your taste buds satisfied. Meals in themselves thus lasted for hours but there was no gouging of food or stuffing of faces, quiet, delicate seemingly endless savoring of foods. By the time Thomas had left, the hour was well past that of the noon hour but he was quite content save for a bit of soreness in his jaw. He bid the Muffin-Tops farewell and made his was home. Crossing over into his empty castle-like home was at times such a contrast from whatever place he was returning from, that he would feel a little out of place. Now was most definitely one of those times and he had no desire to dwell as he did before in a search for his next door. He knew where he was headed and with quick feet, charged up to the top floor of the house heading for the realm of the crystal mistress. The mistress was a fortune teller, an old woman who crowed and cackled like a witch, frail looking but undoubtedly powerful. Her world unlike all others was caught somewhere between dimensions, it was black all around for what seemed like infinity. The only light was that which surrounded the massive wicker chair in which she sat surrounded by crystals of all shapes and sizes. She cautioned all those who managed to find her never to stray from her parlor for those who could no longer see its light vanished into nothingness.
Not having noticed Thomas when he entered, he shrugged off his frown momentarily to quickly dispense with the amenities.
“Morning Tom.”
“Morning your lordhip.” Tom was being sarcastic of course, being considered as part of the family there was no need for him to be so formal. The Lord answered with a hard look, and then turned to the Mrs.
“Nearly starved to death was he my dear?” He said quickly, raising an eyebrow at Tom.
“Yes my love.”
“Saved by good scent cloud was he?”
“Yes my love.”
“Hmph, not sure where to eat I bet? Indecisiveness will most likely be the end of the boy.”
“Most likely.”
With an air of mock victory, Lord Muffin-Top joined the other two and the table and readied himself for breakfast.
“Your Lordship.” Thomas continued, not conceding defeat. “You were saying?” Paying no attention, his lordship went on with the story.
“Ah yes, ahm, as I was saying…Un-be-lie-vable!”
“There I was.” The lord was very gestural in his manner of speaking especially when anecdotal. It was as though he re-enacted whatever tale he told.
“On the hunting grounds, the…the…uh.”
“Huntington.” Mrs. Muffin-Top quickly and delicately added.”
“Thank you dearest, the Hun-ting-ton hunting grounds. Ready to hunt bear.” Whenever Mr. Muffin-Top would speak of an animal he always mimicked its most distinctive physical attribute. For example, for a deer or moose he make antlers of his hands atop his head, in this instance he made his arms wide to show the bear’s corpulence making claws with his hands and a scary growl face. And no matter how many times he would allude to the animal he would pause for the mimickery. Thomas loved this about him, and always found himself more enthralled in the story as a result. “So there we were the chaps and I, walking the woods, stalking the grounds, trying not to make a sound. When all of a sudden, we found a magnificent beast, a bear no less than fifteen feet tall if he was a foot. I called the boys over for them to see, and told them, this one was mine. I lined my tranquilizer rifle, ready to put him to sleep so that he may be dealt with in a most humane way.
“Most humane my love.” The Mrs. Added
Mr. Muffin-Top’s face was already red, and he was almost short of breath from the exertion of flailing his arms to re-enact the walking, pretending to sneak around to re-enact the stalking and clutching an invisble rifle to re-enact the lining. All of this while speaking, in that particular manner of this.
“So there I was, ready to bring doooooooown the bear, when a most un-be-, no, no that’s not it, when a most, a most.” He was now huffing and puffing, so red, so mad, it seemed that soon he would lose his muffin’s top.”
“Grievous my dear.”
“A most grrrrrrrrrrievous transgression on one’s right to hunt good and proper, was commited onto MEEEEEE!” Completely spent from the emotion of this retelling, Mr. Muffin-Top’s captive audience was forced to wait for him to gather himself, drink a little water and then finally, go on.
“That idiot Nigel accidentally fired off his rifle, causing the bear to be alerted to our presence, then to give chase in a raaaaaaaaged frrrrenzy, for what seemed like miles Luckily, we somewhow managed to escape with our hides intact. His lordship, now drew a deep breath filling his starved lungs, collapsing in his chair reeling from the climax of this near tragic story. Thomas was quite exilirated, his face gleaming.
“Well anyway, I was so angered at that poor fool that I could no longer enjoy the hunt, and so here I am. Shall we begin?”
The meal had been quite worth the wait, as it always is in this land. For you see, the true treasure of this place is that no matter how much you eat, you never feel full. And so the only reason you ever stop is simply because you no longer want to eat. But do not be fooled, gluttony is greatly frowned upon, all things must be done in moderation you see. “Tis’ the only way the things that need doing will get done.” As the Mrs. Always puts it. Of course, this does not prevent those who dwell here to eat great amounts food.
What was important was to enjoy every morsel regardless of the quantity, and what signaled the end of the meal was simply a question of having your taste buds satisfied. Meals in themselves thus lasted for hours but there was no gouging of food or stuffing of faces, quiet, delicate seemingly endless savoring of foods. By the time Thomas had left, the hour was well past that of the noon hour but he was quite content save for a bit of soreness in his jaw. He bid the Muffin-Tops farewell and made his was home. Crossing over into his empty castle-like home was at times such a contrast from whatever place he was returning from, that he would feel a little out of place. Now was most definitely one of those times and he had no desire to dwell as he did before in a search for his next door. He knew where he was headed and with quick feet, charged up to the top floor of the house heading for the realm of the crystal mistress. The mistress was a fortune teller, an old woman who crowed and cackled like a witch, frail looking but undoubtedly powerful. Her world unlike all others was caught somewhere between dimensions, it was black all around for what seemed like infinity. The only light was that which surrounded the massive wicker chair in which she sat surrounded by crystals of all shapes and sizes. She cautioned all those who managed to find her never to stray from her parlor for those who could no longer see its light vanished into nothingness.
Tale of the week
The fifth tale:The King and the demon.
In the third age of the hundred year rule of King Ogdazh, the demon of Azgar appeared and layed waste to many of the villages in the Kingdom, hundreds died and suffered. The demon spared none that he came across and his delight in the carnage was expressed by the gruesome scenes left in his wake.
The people, desperate, begged that the King should save them. But the King did not. Villagers came to pound on the gates and doors of the castle, but still the King would not act. For seven days and nights, the demon cruelly ravaged the lands as the villagers ran and hid for their lives.
On the eighth morning, when the demon came to the largest of the villages in the Kingdom, he found that the people had rallied together in great number to fight, having abandoned all hope that their King would save them. As this beast of a creature approached, the villagers came out and surrounded it. Unmoved by the spectacle, the demon continued to approach laughing most darkly. The villagers trembled, but held their ground and as it seemed the demon would leap forward to attack, the King suddenly appeared before it. The demon, showing no sign of surprise, cast its vicious gaze upon the King The King countered with a frightful stare and their eyes locked. The villagers, amazed and baffled by the King’s sudden appearance, could only watch in anticipation. As time crawled on and with no sign of either yielding any ground, the villagers grew restless and the crowd rumbled. Soon the tension grew too great and the villagers could wait no longer. The King, sensing this, made his move. Walking intently towards the demon, he held out his arms, and he and the demon shared an embrace, like two old friends finding each other after many years. Once the embrace finished, the demon vanished.
The crowd of villagers instantly fell silent and for what seemed a long time, just sood there in great confusion. Suddenly, one among them spoke in anger at the scene, then another, and another, all screaming that the King was in league with the demon and had sent it to destroy them. The mob's anger grew hot and the air smelled of violence, they-the villagers- began to descend upon the King. The King turned to his people and raised his fist letting out a mighty war cry, his voice booming like the cries of a thousand warriors. As the sound of the cry reached the villagers, it carried deep within each of them quelling their rage and leaving them still, proud and strong.
The King lowered his hand and said. "Now you fend for yourselves, recognize that which the demon has left you and be thankful, for when the day comes when the King is no longer, the people of Altai shall know how to stand and fight.”
In the third age of the hundred year rule of King Ogdazh, the demon of Azgar appeared and layed waste to many of the villages in the Kingdom, hundreds died and suffered. The demon spared none that he came across and his delight in the carnage was expressed by the gruesome scenes left in his wake.
The people, desperate, begged that the King should save them. But the King did not. Villagers came to pound on the gates and doors of the castle, but still the King would not act. For seven days and nights, the demon cruelly ravaged the lands as the villagers ran and hid for their lives.
On the eighth morning, when the demon came to the largest of the villages in the Kingdom, he found that the people had rallied together in great number to fight, having abandoned all hope that their King would save them. As this beast of a creature approached, the villagers came out and surrounded it. Unmoved by the spectacle, the demon continued to approach laughing most darkly. The villagers trembled, but held their ground and as it seemed the demon would leap forward to attack, the King suddenly appeared before it. The demon, showing no sign of surprise, cast its vicious gaze upon the King The King countered with a frightful stare and their eyes locked. The villagers, amazed and baffled by the King’s sudden appearance, could only watch in anticipation. As time crawled on and with no sign of either yielding any ground, the villagers grew restless and the crowd rumbled. Soon the tension grew too great and the villagers could wait no longer. The King, sensing this, made his move. Walking intently towards the demon, he held out his arms, and he and the demon shared an embrace, like two old friends finding each other after many years. Once the embrace finished, the demon vanished.
The crowd of villagers instantly fell silent and for what seemed a long time, just sood there in great confusion. Suddenly, one among them spoke in anger at the scene, then another, and another, all screaming that the King was in league with the demon and had sent it to destroy them. The mob's anger grew hot and the air smelled of violence, they-the villagers- began to descend upon the King. The King turned to his people and raised his fist letting out a mighty war cry, his voice booming like the cries of a thousand warriors. As the sound of the cry reached the villagers, it carried deep within each of them quelling their rage and leaving them still, proud and strong.
The King lowered his hand and said. "Now you fend for yourselves, recognize that which the demon has left you and be thankful, for when the day comes when the King is no longer, the people of Altai shall know how to stand and fight.”
Monday, July 21, 2008
The Adventures of Thomas the Momas
I present to you, dear reader, The Adventures of Thomas the Momas. The tale of the spiritual journey of an enigmatic young man who lived in an enigmatic old house.
There once was man who lived in a house filled with doors to other places. Not closets, bathrooms, kitchens or bedrooms but other worlds and dimensions. Everyday he awoke and began making his way through his house, going from floor to floor hearing each door call to him, urging him to walk through. Some doors, more excited than others shook hard, almost coming off their hinges. But he was a patient man, examining each door carefully as to be sure to make the right choice of door for today. “Which one shall it be today?” he said aloud, the doors hummed in anticipation. “Shall it be a big door?” He continued standing in front of massive double-door made of heavy oak. “Shall it be a small door?” He turned and knelt to examine the waist high door behind him. “Will it be a green door, an orange door…?” He continued down the hall, hearing the doors cry out in his mind. He made his way to the basement, ten floors down, once there he made his way through a long winding hallway lit by torches and lined with mirrors. In the mirrors of this house there lived something ominous, a spectre, a phantom, an evil of some kind. He feared it, and welcomed it all at once for he knew that in this life it was bound to him. It did not speak up like the doors, only whispered in a sinister voice, hushed evil things in his mind. He ran down the hall way, for though the mirros were scary, the prize to be found was too irresistible. At the end of the hallway, two doors made of cast iron stood towering seemingly to no end, the torches lighting it on either side found their light swallowed by the deep darkness a few feet higher leaving no account of any kind of ceiling. Indeed the basement was a dark and frightening place. He stood in front of the large doors, speechless, examining the texture with his eyes, than his hands, then feeling the metal’s frost with his cheek. He had never past this gate before, but everyday he came to look upon it. He could not say why, but something in compelled him to, as if he needed to be reassured it was still there. He thought perhaps this door hid away untold treasures, or maybe untold horrors, all he could say for sure was that he wanted above all else to walk through them. Yet he could not bring himself to do so, every time he set his hands on the iron rings with which he could pull the doors open a murmur emanating from the mirrors could be heard. As he began to pull the massive doors open the murmur grew to ghostly whispers of an ill intent. An ominous feeling would then creep up his spine causing a shudder, as the doors would begin to part a bright light would burst from the slight opening blinding him, forcing him to turn his eyes away and with the light came wind but not from the inside. The hall of mirrors in protest of his efforts conjured a strange wind that pulled him from behind with enough force to convince him to release his grip. And the moment he would the doors would slam shut of their own accord and once again he would be left in the dark, short of breath, sweating and exhausted. The mass of the doors themselves was cause enough for such physical exertion. However, the mystical energies working in tandem to thwart his attempts at crossing would nearly suck the life out of him. Light and wind, his ennemies at this hour, every single day, for years he could no longer count. But, he would return tomorrow, compelled by some dogged determination even he could not understand. For he was very mild in character in regard to all other things, never did he apply force where there was too much resistance, but this door and its mystery had awoken something in him that could not rest until satisfied.
After he had taken a long hot shower, he began to wander the halls again this time in search of an enchanting place to have breakfast. As always the morning’s episode always left him famished and happily so, for he delighted in food like no other. “Where O where to satiate my great hunger?” He said nearly in song, jubilating at the mere thought of the feast to come. He made his way from floor to floor, unable to choose, torturing himself as his hunger grew to the point of intolerability, which also delighted him. He began to feel faint and decided to sit a spell, on the stairs between the 4th and 5th floors. He thought perhaps if he made up his mind about where to go in one place he would have more luck in choosing. He thought long and hard, trying as best not to be distracted by the constant grumbling of his stomach, he thought and thought but to no avail. Suddenly, his salvation came in the form of a faint aroma, one sweet and delicious. Bewitched by the sweet odour he was drawn to his feet and followed his nose down to the fourth. Now the sent was growing stronger and more sweet and with each step he fell deeper and deeper under its spell until his feet left the ground and he began to float. He floated until the end of the hallway and arrived in front a wonderful coloured door, looking like a rainbow swirl and smelling of pancakes, waffles, marmelade and sweet berries. He pulled it open and was carried inside by a wonderfully sented cloud onto a chair at a table where a mountain of all the things he smelled and more stood before him. “Well my dear, looks like you’ve alost done it this time.” The words came from the high pitched yet lovable voice of Mrs. Muffin-Top, a small and full figure of a middle aged-woman with a face as sweet as her baked treats. “You’ve almost gone and done it this time, nearly starving yourself to death!” Our hero looked around but could not see her, she actually remained hidden and the other end of the table concealed by the stacks of food. Knowing he was probably looking around for her, she poked her head out on the side and gave him a sweet smile, the sweetest smile. She was of a playful nature and he very much liked that.
“Yes I know Mrs. Muffin-Top, it’s just so hard to choose at times.”
“Well you know dear, I always tell you when in doubt come to the Muffin-Tops’, but do you ever listen?” Her cheery voice sounded a little more reproachful, but not too much so.
“Yes, I know, I know, It’ll be the end of me…Say, where’s Lord Muffin-Top this morning.”
“The Lord is out hunting, don’t think he’ll be in for breakfast though.” No sooner had she finished her words did Mr., or rather Lord Muffin-Top come bursting through the front door huffing and puffing in discontent.
From the Adventures of Thomas the Momas Copyright 2008
There once was man who lived in a house filled with doors to other places. Not closets, bathrooms, kitchens or bedrooms but other worlds and dimensions. Everyday he awoke and began making his way through his house, going from floor to floor hearing each door call to him, urging him to walk through. Some doors, more excited than others shook hard, almost coming off their hinges. But he was a patient man, examining each door carefully as to be sure to make the right choice of door for today. “Which one shall it be today?” he said aloud, the doors hummed in anticipation. “Shall it be a big door?” He continued standing in front of massive double-door made of heavy oak. “Shall it be a small door?” He turned and knelt to examine the waist high door behind him. “Will it be a green door, an orange door…?” He continued down the hall, hearing the doors cry out in his mind. He made his way to the basement, ten floors down, once there he made his way through a long winding hallway lit by torches and lined with mirrors. In the mirrors of this house there lived something ominous, a spectre, a phantom, an evil of some kind. He feared it, and welcomed it all at once for he knew that in this life it was bound to him. It did not speak up like the doors, only whispered in a sinister voice, hushed evil things in his mind. He ran down the hall way, for though the mirros were scary, the prize to be found was too irresistible. At the end of the hallway, two doors made of cast iron stood towering seemingly to no end, the torches lighting it on either side found their light swallowed by the deep darkness a few feet higher leaving no account of any kind of ceiling. Indeed the basement was a dark and frightening place. He stood in front of the large doors, speechless, examining the texture with his eyes, than his hands, then feeling the metal’s frost with his cheek. He had never past this gate before, but everyday he came to look upon it. He could not say why, but something in compelled him to, as if he needed to be reassured it was still there. He thought perhaps this door hid away untold treasures, or maybe untold horrors, all he could say for sure was that he wanted above all else to walk through them. Yet he could not bring himself to do so, every time he set his hands on the iron rings with which he could pull the doors open a murmur emanating from the mirrors could be heard. As he began to pull the massive doors open the murmur grew to ghostly whispers of an ill intent. An ominous feeling would then creep up his spine causing a shudder, as the doors would begin to part a bright light would burst from the slight opening blinding him, forcing him to turn his eyes away and with the light came wind but not from the inside. The hall of mirrors in protest of his efforts conjured a strange wind that pulled him from behind with enough force to convince him to release his grip. And the moment he would the doors would slam shut of their own accord and once again he would be left in the dark, short of breath, sweating and exhausted. The mass of the doors themselves was cause enough for such physical exertion. However, the mystical energies working in tandem to thwart his attempts at crossing would nearly suck the life out of him. Light and wind, his ennemies at this hour, every single day, for years he could no longer count. But, he would return tomorrow, compelled by some dogged determination even he could not understand. For he was very mild in character in regard to all other things, never did he apply force where there was too much resistance, but this door and its mystery had awoken something in him that could not rest until satisfied.
After he had taken a long hot shower, he began to wander the halls again this time in search of an enchanting place to have breakfast. As always the morning’s episode always left him famished and happily so, for he delighted in food like no other. “Where O where to satiate my great hunger?” He said nearly in song, jubilating at the mere thought of the feast to come. He made his way from floor to floor, unable to choose, torturing himself as his hunger grew to the point of intolerability, which also delighted him. He began to feel faint and decided to sit a spell, on the stairs between the 4th and 5th floors. He thought perhaps if he made up his mind about where to go in one place he would have more luck in choosing. He thought long and hard, trying as best not to be distracted by the constant grumbling of his stomach, he thought and thought but to no avail. Suddenly, his salvation came in the form of a faint aroma, one sweet and delicious. Bewitched by the sweet odour he was drawn to his feet and followed his nose down to the fourth. Now the sent was growing stronger and more sweet and with each step he fell deeper and deeper under its spell until his feet left the ground and he began to float. He floated until the end of the hallway and arrived in front a wonderful coloured door, looking like a rainbow swirl and smelling of pancakes, waffles, marmelade and sweet berries. He pulled it open and was carried inside by a wonderfully sented cloud onto a chair at a table where a mountain of all the things he smelled and more stood before him. “Well my dear, looks like you’ve alost done it this time.” The words came from the high pitched yet lovable voice of Mrs. Muffin-Top, a small and full figure of a middle aged-woman with a face as sweet as her baked treats. “You’ve almost gone and done it this time, nearly starving yourself to death!” Our hero looked around but could not see her, she actually remained hidden and the other end of the table concealed by the stacks of food. Knowing he was probably looking around for her, she poked her head out on the side and gave him a sweet smile, the sweetest smile. She was of a playful nature and he very much liked that.
“Yes I know Mrs. Muffin-Top, it’s just so hard to choose at times.”
“Well you know dear, I always tell you when in doubt come to the Muffin-Tops’, but do you ever listen?” Her cheery voice sounded a little more reproachful, but not too much so.
“Yes, I know, I know, It’ll be the end of me…Say, where’s Lord Muffin-Top this morning.”
“The Lord is out hunting, don’t think he’ll be in for breakfast though.” No sooner had she finished her words did Mr., or rather Lord Muffin-Top come bursting through the front door huffing and puffing in discontent.
From the Adventures of Thomas the Momas Copyright 2008
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